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He raised his hand to beckon me. "Come with me, Miss Vianello."
It was after five o'clock and a deviation from his usual quitting time. Dante didn't eat dinner until seven o'clock.
I got up from the desk and stood before him. "Where are we going?"
"To my apartment."
The penthouses were on the hotel side. So we had to take the elevator downstairs and walk through the casino. Dante didn't speak as we went through the motions. I was getting used to the silence and didn't mind it.
In some ways, it was nice. He didn't feel the need to fill the voice with white noise.
Not like his brothers.
Nico was chatty, and so was Stefan. Angelo was a mixture of his twin and Bossman. I was used to their personalities and understood what they liked. It was best to wait until Dante spoke to me. That seemed to cause the least amount of fights. Though, every time I opened my mouth, it angered him.
We got off the elevator and turned left. Dante lived in the apartment beside his father. Between the two sets of doors stood men with guns.
Dante opened his door and shoved me inside, guiding me through the house with his hand on my back. Unlike the twins' place, this was bright white and sterile—zero personality, which didn't shock me. The art on the walls was tasteful and modern. The space was decorated in various shades of cream and looked like a hotel suite.
He had the same open concept floor plan and the patio doors off the kitchen. The only difference between our penthouses was the bar on the right side of the dining room. Dante went straight for the wet bar and filled a glass with amber liquid.
Then he turned around, leaning his back against the wooden bar, and surveyed me with curiosity. Was he going to try to pry the information about my dad out of me? He had to know Dad was missing. It was the second day in my entire life he hadn't shown up for work.
It didn't go unnoticed.
Dante didn't miss a beat.
He dropped onto the leather couch and rested his dress shoe on the coffee table. I wasn't sure what to do, so I followed him. But when he looked up at me, eyes filled with rage, I stopped myself from sitting.
I stood up straight and slapped on a forced smile. "What can I do for you, Mr. Luciano?"
He drank from the glass, tapping his fingers on his knee. "You can tell me where your father has been hiding.”
Nerves slid up the back of my throat, choking me. "Um," I bit out. "I honestly don't know."
He curled his hand into a fist and growled, "Bullshit. Where is he?"
I inched closer, careful to keep enough distance between us. "I'm telling you the truth," I muttered, my voice wavering. "I called home to see if he was there."
"And?"
I shook my head. "Angelina said he hasn't come home. I tried calling his cell phone, and it keeps going straight to voicemail."
"Thatpompinaro." His nostrils flared. "Where does he go when he's not working or at home?"
"He's worked seven days a week for my entire life. Your dad is his only friend. My mom is in California." I shrugged. "So I don't know. I have been in Manhattan for the last four years. If he got new friends, I don't know about them."
He scrubbed his hand across his jaw. "Friends like the Vitales?"
"I wouldn't know," I lied. "Your family is merging with theirs. Ask them."
"No, we're not," he snapped. "They work for us. The Vitales will never be privy to our operations. Your father has no reason to discuss anything with them."
I wasn't sure what I was thinking. But I wanted to distract him from asking the one question that would force me to lie. So I moved between his spread thighs.
He didn't yell at me.
Just stared at me.
